


The Leviathan

by orphan_account



Category: Sing (2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Biblical Refrences, Drowning, Jobe - Freeform, Leviathan - Freeform, Oh my god so much time went into this, death mentions, dying, yes I'm proud damn it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9607625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For my sighing cometh instead of my food, and my roarings are poured out like water.For the thing which I did fear is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of hath overtaken me.I was not at ease, neither was I quiet, neither had I rest; but trouble came.Job 3:8





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Betaem, who asked for something Buster-centric!

כד  כִּי-לִפְנֵי לַחְמִי, אַנְחָתִי תָבֹא;    וַיִּתְּכוּ כַמַּיִם, שַׁאֲגֹתָי.

כה  כִּי פַחַד פָּחַדְתִּי, וַיֶּאֱתָיֵנִי;    וַאֲשֶׁר יָגֹרְתִּי, יָבֹא לִי.      

כו  לֹא שָׁלַוְתִּי, וְלֹא שָׁקַטְתִּי וְלֹא-נָחְתִּי;    וַיָּבֹא רֹגֶז.          

For my sighing cometh instead of my food, and my roarings are poured out like water.

For the thing which I did fear is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of hath overtaken me.

I was not at ease, neither was I quiet, neither had I rest; but trouble came.

Job 3:8

 

       The water poured in like a thing- a living thing. It writhed along the floor, filled every crevice like some great bleeding beast as it coiled atop its own twisting and twisting. A colossus of great rolling knots, its wound around ankles and necks and poured its own roar into open screaming mouths. It was a beast that hungered. It was a beast that hungered and ate and ate from the inside out -

       The windows were cracking the floor was breaking the support beams were bending oh Christ the walls, the walls-

       He felt like he was dying.

       The thing raced through the halls. It tore up the stairs, foaming at the mouth and lay waste to sanctity. Nothing was safe. Nothing ever was safe. Everything was just lying in wait for the moment where it would be gone in an instant. All the moments lost were swallowed whole and everything that was ever loved was ripped away, for nothing lasts in the face of rage, and the beast did rage, and nothing was safe, and everything was going going going going-

       All of the music and all of the hours and all of the fingerprints and handprints coated in the dust of ages-

       He felt like he was dying.

       To end would have been softer. To die would have been kinder. A stolen breath was nothing more than a scream that could not be given. Drowning was a thing that happened at the far edges of land and in the deep depths of the ocean. It happened quietly in bathtubs and unguarded backyard pools and it was horrible but it wasn’t here. It was terrifying but it wasn’t supposed to happen here. Enter the beast, this thing that was actively eating him alive from the inside, the acid of fear biting into the skin just as much as the lack of air and the pain was mounting and mounting and-

       The lines of monologues and the soprano notes, the footprints of all the ballerinas and the paints of all the artists-

       He felt like he was dying.

       In the end, there was nothing left. The mighty cathedral to the arts came crumbling down and all the gods left. They took their countenance to the confines of the underground, left to stew in swears where they would never speak again. There were no more halls to let music ring through. There were no more walls to bear the art of dreamers. There were no more floors to hold up those dancing feet that spoke without words of rage and love and fear. What god would stay where they were not wanted? What worship was this, this desecration of hallowed grounds?

       What mortal dared?

       He searched for his body amongst the ruins, half sure he would find it there. Heaven, in pure spite, would bequeath no such rest. He would be cursed to walk the earth, a broken soul inhabiting the corpse of the man he once was.  This mortal man, who sought to wrangle the gods in heaven and bend the art upon his knee, there was no rest for him.

       There never would be rest for him.


End file.
